Cinnamon Candles
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: He really didn't look good. She'd seen him tired before, of course, but even on previous occasions when he'd gone through periods of insomnia, he managed not to let it affect his appearance much beyond appearing attractively rumpled instead of immaculately pressed. But now, he wasn't faring so well. In fact, he looked downright terrible.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I'm certainly not making any money off them.

A/N: Total fluff.

xxx

"As I was saying, the projections for next quarter are not looking favorable at this point, so make sure you submit your form 442s on time, or funds currently available to your teams may be allocated elsewhere-"

Lisbon tuned out the sound of Wainwright's droning voice and glanced towards the window. She was in the unit leads monthly budget meeting, but her eyes kept straying to the glass partition separating the conference room from the hallway. She reprimanded herself, telling herself sternly to focus, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't sure how, but these meetings had somehow gotten even more boring since Wainwright had taken over. At least Hightower and LaRoche had the decency to recognize how odious these meetings were, despite the necessity of having them. Wainwright seemed to almost relish them. Jane said it was because Wainwright excelled at tedium and it was therefore the element in which he was the most comfortable.

Lisbon looked out the window again. Jane usually found some way or another break up the monotony of these meetings by executing some kind of trick partway through the meeting, but so far, nothing. She wondered if he was cooking up something even more outlandish than normal, although what exactly would qualify as more outlandish than normal for Jane was hard to say. He'd sent Wainwright a singing telegram once. Another time, he'd set a duck loose in the hall. Halfway through the last meeting, he'd flown a model plane past the window with a tiny banner attached to it that read 'Smile, Lisbon. The drones will NOT inherit the earth.'

Wainwright had lectured Jane sternly about professionalism and the importance of not disrupting meetings, but Jane had listened with that characteristic ease of manner which meant that he'd listen to all the yelling his superiors had breath for, but he had no intention of altering his behavior unless it damn well suited him. Jane had listened politely, thanked Wainwright for the insight into his leadership philosophy, and left with a wink to Lisbon.

"Honestly," Wainwright said, exasperated. "Sometimes I think he's like the class clown trying to get the attention of the prettiest girl in the schoolyard."

Lisbon flushed at his implication, and then Wainwright, realizing what he'd said, turned bright red as well. "Not that you—that he—not that I think you're pretty, or anything." Then—"Not that I *don't* think you're pretty. Of course I do—you're a very beautiful woman. But as your boss—well, what I mean to say is—I don't think of you as anything. That is, except a superior agent and an excellent team leader. Because to think anything else would be unprofessional—"

Lisbon held up a hand to forestall him before he went any further down this deeply uncomfortable path. "Sir, please don't apologize. I know what you meant. I know better than anyone that Jane at times defies conventional description."

Wainwright let out a deep breath. "Yes, he does."

Lisbon always yelled at Jane herself after these stunts, but of course the bastard knew she secretly found them amusing and her words had even less effect on him than usual. She *did* enjoy having something to break up the tedium of those never-ending meetings. He always managed to get a smile out of her when she first caught sight of his latest prank, even if she did school her features into a disapproving expression when giving him the obligatory dressing down afterwards.

Today, however, there had been no singing telegram, no hysterical duck with a firework attached to its tail. Maybe Jane was getting bored with his own games. Lisbon tried to feel glad of this and the corresponding reduction in paperwork it entailed, but somehow she couldn't quite manage it. Okay, so she was glad about having less paperwork, but Jane just wasn't being Jane if he wasn't up to something or another that ended up making her life more difficult in the end.

Come to think of it, he had been playing fewer pranks in general lately. She hadn't really thought about it before, but their last two cases had been solved by what Lisbon called good solid detective work rather than one of Jane's convoluted schemes. She was pleased to be able to show Jane that what he called tedious drudgery did pay off now and then, but was it possible she'd been focusing on the wrong part of the equation? She'd congratulated Cho and Van Pelt on a job well done, but maybe she should have considered the idea that it wasn't that they were so above and beyond their normal standard of work, but that Jane was somehow off his game.

When the budget meeting finally let out, she headed back to the bullpen. The team was working diligently (though Rigsby's diligence was accompanied by a steady stream of snacking and the occasional covert glance at Van Pelt).

Jane, predictably, was lying on the couch, eyes closed. She thought about waking him up to give him a hard time about not working, but hesitated. Jane had been looking rather tired lately. Which meant that he was getting even less sleep than usual. She decided to let him sleep. He probably needed the rest.

"I'm not asleep," Jane said, without opening his eyes. "Though I do appreciate you trying to make sure that I'm getting enough rest. That's very thoughtful of you, Lisbon."

"You okay?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm fine. How was the meeting?"

"Eh. The usual."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Wainwright give you the standard spiel about tightening our belts and documenting your efforts in triplicate?"

"Pretty much."

Jane stood. "All right, then. Let's go."

Lisbon looked at him blankly. "Go where?"

"To your office. You want to talk to me about our next case without disturbing the others, don't you?"

"I—yeah." Again, a hesitation. "We don't have to do it now, if you need to finish your nap."

"I told you I wasn't sleeping."

"All right," Lisbon said, allowing Jane to usher her into her office with his hand at the small of her back. But once they were inside her office, she hesitated again. He was unshaven and he did look tired. His face was a bit drawn. "You sure you're all right? You don't look so good."

"Why the sudden concern, Lisbon?"

"No reason."

"Ah, you were disappointed that I didn't create one of my amusing scenarios during the budget meeting and you had to sit through the whole hour of Wainwright blathering on about quarterly projections without anything to distract you."

"Not at all," she lied. "I was relieved you decided to act like a professional for once. It was nice to sit through a meeting without having to deal with any of your antics."

He smiled at her. "Liar. Don't worry, just because I didn't have time to have any live poultry delivered to the CBI today doesn't mean I'm going off the deep end."

Lisbon was not reassured. "But everything is all right?"

"Don't fuss, Lisbon. Everything's fine."

"I'm not fussing, I'm just asking. You don't seem quite yourself."

"I just thought I'd try to catch up on some sleep during your meeting instead of coming up with a new scheme to entertain you and pester Wainwright."

"You said you weren't sleeping before," Lisbon pointed out.

"I was *trying* to sleep. I just wasn't successful. Now, are we going to keep talking about this, or are you actually going to tell me about the case?

Lisbon let the subject drop, and probably would have left it at that, but the signs that something was off with Jane only grew more apparent over the next couple of weeks.

It was obvious he wasn't sleeping. He really didn't look good, Lisbon observed critically. She'd seen him tired before, of course, but even on previous occasions when he'd gone through periods of insomnia, he managed not to let it affect his appearance much beyond appearing attractively rumpled instead of immaculately pressed. But now, he wasn't faring so well. In fact, he looked downright terrible. For the first time since she'd met him, Patrick Jane looked something less than irritatingly perfect. Dark circles seemed to have taken up permanent residence under his eyes under his eyes, and hollows appeared in his cheeks which had never been there before. His suits hung loosely on his frame and he looked positively gaunt, though there hadn't been any change in his eating habits that she could notice. She worried that he was ill, but he insisted he wasn't. No, everything seemed to hinge on a lack of sleep. She nagged him about going to the doctor to get a refill of his prescription for sleeping pills, but he told her the pills hadn't been working.

She got him an extra blanket for his couch and even bought him a new pillow, but nothing seemed to help. She raided his tea stash and purged every tea bag she suspected had even a trace of caffeine, but that didn't seem to help, either. She let him lie on her couch while she was working, on the theory that it would be easier for him to sleep in the slightly more quiet environment of her office than out in the noisy bullpen, but he tossed and turned the whole time, and she spent the time worrying instead of working.

The breaking point, though, didn't come until about two weeks after Jane's failure to disrupt the monthly budget meeting.

Jane was punchy. This was a sight to behold. He was moving around with a manic energy and displaying even less tact than usual. While in some circumstances this might have been amusing, Lisbon couldn't seem to find the humor in the situation.

He, who was usually so guarded and controlled, seemed not to make an effort to censor himself even the slightest bit before blurting out every thought that came into his head as it occurred to him.

One of his infamous plans had gone horribly wrong, and the whole team was on a knife's edge, everyone stiff with tension. The plan had been an absolute disaster from the word go, and Grace had nearly been killed. Jane had pegged the wrong man as the killer, and while the rest of the team was chasing the wrong suspect, the real killer had nearly succeeded in killing Van Pelt and would have done so if Lisbon hadn't realized what was going on at the last minute and ordered the team to double back and look for her when she failed to report in on the radio check. Now Grace was shaken, Rigsby was white with anger that Jane had put Grace in danger, Cho was grimacing in pain from a knife wound to the arm the killer had managed to inflict before he'd gotten the cuffs on him, and Lisbon was pissed at herself for agreeing to go along with Jane's plan in the first place. She'd let herself be persuaded despite her misgivings and Van Pelt had nearly paid the price. In retrospect, she could see the plan hadn't even made sense, but since Jane's plans never seemed to make sense at first, she hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand as she should have. Now she was coming down from an adrenaline rush sparked by the fear of her own mistake costing the life of one of her team members.

Jane, meanwhile, kept lifting items from the pockets of the local sheriff, and then presenting them back to him by flicking the items against the man's nose. When Lisbon told him to leave the poor man alone, Jane insisted that he deserved it. He said he was only doing it because the man had squidgy eyes, whatever the hell that meant, and men with squidgy eyes weren't to be trusted. She finally had to grab him by the arm and drag him forcibly over to the rest of the team.

At the sight of the team, he balked and pulled back.

She stopped. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she snapped.

"Don't make me face them," he begged her. "Please, Lisbon. They'll kill me and leave my body parts scattered through the forests to be eaten by wolves. I don't want to be eaten by wolves."

Lisbon was in no mood for this. "You're going to have to take your chances." She yanked him forward and he stumbled a little as she thrust him back into the midst of the group.

Jane went straight to Van Pelt. "Lovely Grace," he said, with his most charming smile. "Please tell Rigsby that what happened wasn't my fault."

Van Pelt's eyes hardened. "It was your fault."

"Yes, I know," he answered in a stage whisper. "But kindly tell Rigsby that it wasn't so he doesn't kill me for putting you in harm's way."

"It isn't funny, Jane," Rigsby said angrily. "She could have been killed."

Cho stopped examining the bandage on his arm and looked up at him. "What's going on with you, man? It's not like you to let things get so out of hand."

Jane rubbed his hand over his face. "I can't sleep." There was something horribly desperate in his eyes as he spoke. "I just haven't been able to sleep in so long."

Cho nodded. "Well, you'd better figure something out. You can't keep going on like this."

"Yeah," Jane said sounding defeated.

The others nodded, not happy, but the tension had lessened considerably and they were all looking at him more in pity than anger now.

Jane looked at Van Pelt. "I really am sorry, Grace."

"Don't worry about it," she said gruffly. "Everyone's fine now, that's what matters."

Jane nodded, but then he seemed to sway lightly and lose his balance. He staggered to one side and reached his hand out for balance. Lisbon caught him and he leaned heavily against her side.

Oof. He weighed a ton. "Jesus, Jane, you really are a mess," she said. "You should go home."

"No, no, I'm fine," he said. "Just… let me lean on you for a minute."

"All right." She tried not to think about what they must look like to the rest of the team, standing together with his arm around her shoulder and her arm around his waist anchoring him to her, and concentrated on keeping him upright. "Rigsby, can you tie up any loose ends with the good sheriff? Van Pelt, if you're up for it, would you mind touching base with the victim's family? Cho—" Lisbon broke off at the sensation of Jane picking up a strand of her hair from where it lay against her shoulder and lifting it to his nose. "Jane, what the hell are you doing?"

"Mm, cinnamon," Jane said, breathing in deeply. "It's a very comforting smell. Soothing." He leaned in and buried his nose in Lisbon's hair, nuzzling against her head. "Do you think I could sleep if I had some cinnamon candles around?"

Lisbon jerked away and ignored the poorly concealed smirks on the faces of the rest of the team. "That's it. No more arguments. You're done here."

Jane blinked. "What are you saying?"

"I'm benching you, Jane. You're off the case."

Jane's eyes didn't leave hers. "The case is closed."

"You're off the next case, and any other case, until you sort out whatever the hell is going on with you."

Rigsby's eyes widened and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just go—got to talk to the sheriff."

"Yeah, me too," Van Pelt mumbled, beating a hasty retreat after Rigsby, neither eager to witness the scene that would undoubtedly follow this declaration.

Jane ignored them. "Lisbon, is this really necessary? I admit I'm not exactly at my best, but what purpose will it serve to-"

She cut him off. "You need to sleep, Jane."

"Don't you think I've *tried* to sleep? All I want to do is sleep. I just can't."

"I don't care. Do whatever it takes. You're not doing yourself of anyone else any good in the state you're in. Go wherever you like—go to the beach, or a nice peaceful sanitarium, for all I care, but don't come back to work until you've slept at least eight hours in a row and can demonstrate that you are once again capable of rational thought. Now, give me your keys."

"Oh, Lisbon, really? I'm perfectly capable of—"

She ignored him and held out her hand expectantly. "Keys, now. You're not fit to drive right now."

He sighed and handed his keys over to her. She pocketed them and peeled off a couple of bills, which she handed to Cho. "Here's fifty bucks. Should be enough for cab fare to anywhere in the city he wants to go, but make sure he gets in the cab. I'll wrap up here and check in with you later, okay?"

Cho took the money. "Yes, ma'am." And he frog marched Jane away from the crime scene.

xxx

Lisbon didn't get home until late that night. Tying up everything at the scene had been no small task, and then she'd gone back to the office to smooth things over with Wainwright, who was understandably upset that their consultant had nearly caused one of their agents to be killed.

She was exhausted. In addition to it having been an extraordinarily hellish day, she was short on sleep herself. Preoccupied as she'd been by worrying about Jane, she'd been having trouble falling asleep, too. She debated investigating the fridge to see if she had any leftovers that were still edible, but decided to hell with it, she just wanted to go to bed. She was pretty sure there was nothing in the fridge, anyway.

She headed up the stairs and went into her room. She peeled her shirt off as she entered without bothering to turn on the lights, planning to do nothing but strip off her clothes and grab a t shirt to sleep in before crawling into bed.

She took no more than two steps inside the door before a voice to her left cut the silence of her still apartment. "I suggest you stop there if you don't want to keep your consultant awake for entirely different reasons than usual."

She whipped around and had her gun trained on the place where the voice had come from before she'd processed what was happening. Adrenaline spiking, she turned on the lights.

There, lying on her bed, under the covers, was Patrick Jane, blinking against the bright light as his eyes adjusted to coming out of the darkness. "Hello, Lisbon."


	2. Chapter 2

"Jane?" she said, flabbergasted. "What the *hell* are you doing here?"

"I should think that was obvious."

She stared at him. "It's not."

"I'm just doing what you told me to do. I'm trying to sleep."

"I meant in your own bed!"

"I've tried sleeping in my own bed. It didn't work."

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "I broke in."

"You picked the lock to my apartment?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Ah, Lisbon, as intriguing as I find it that you take your shirt off before your gun when you undress, would you mind putting the gun down now?"

Lisbon realized she was standing there with her gun still trained on him while she was in nothing but jeans and a black cotton bra. "Oh. Sorry." She lowered her weapon and set it down on the nightstand. She grabbed her shirt off the floor and yanked it back over her head, blushing furiously.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Lisbon. Half undressed is a very good look on you. Really, even if I don't get any sleep tonight, coming over here was well worthwhile, just for that."

"Do you know how easy it would be for me to shoot you right now and make it look like an accident?" Lisbon demanded.

He raised his eyebrows. "Pardon me. Some people can't take a compliment."

"You haven't answered my question, Jane. What are you doing here?"

"I did answer your question, Lisbon. Trying to sleep."

"Yes, but why are you *here*?"

"You said to do whatever it takes to get some sleep. I've tried everything else I could think of. This was the only thing left."

Lisbon rubbed her temple against the headache she could feel coming on. "Look, I've had a long day. I'm going to change my clothes and then we'll sit down and talk about this, okay?"

Jane shrugged. "As you like."

Lisbon grabbed a t-shirt and some pajama shorts out of her dresser and headed into the bathroom to change. She brushed her teeth and wished she'd had the foresight to stock her bathroom cabinet with liquor. She could use a shot of whiskey to fortify herself for the discussion about to come. God, just when she though Jane couldn't do anything weirder than some of the stunts he'd pulled so far, he managed to surprise her by doing something like this. Maybe she should put in for a raise. None of the other unit heads had to deal with their consultants breaking into their houses and invading their bedrooms in the dead of night. She could think of a few female agents who would disagree, but surely dealing with Patrick Jane on a daily basis qualified her for hardship pay.

Once she had washed her face, she went back into the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Jane expectantly. "Well?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, what?"

"What is going on in your head right now?"

He peered at her pajama shorts. "Well, at this exact moment, I'm thinking that you have truly excellent legs, and it's a shame you don't wear skirts to the office more often."

Lisbon resisted the urge to cover herself. She would not be distracted. "You know what I mean. Why can't you sleep?"

"Meh. The usual reasons."

Which meant he was in a downward spiral of Red John obsession.

Lisbon sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There was no point. There was nothing you could have done."

"It's not about what I could or couldn't have done, Jane. I could have listened, if you'd just open up once in awhile and tell me what you're thinking."

"Oh, right, I forgot I was talking to Teresa Lisbon, the poster girl for emotional openness and honesty," Jane said sarcastically.

"This is not about me, you stubborn ass. I'm not the one who hasn't slept in two weeks."

"I never sleep," he pointed out.

"I know you don't sleep well as a rule, but what brought on this latest bout of insomnia?"

He didn't answer.

"Jane?" she prompted.

He sighed. "It's the anniversary. It's coming up."

"The anniversary?" Then she remembered. She answered her own question. "Of Angela and Charlotte's deaths."

"Yeah."

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

She hesitated. "I don't remember you being this…"

"This what?"

"I don't remember it being this bad last year," she said gently. "With the sleeping, I mean. Is there something different about this year?"

"It's the tenth. Charlotte would be sixteen. Angela and I would have been married eighteen years."

Lisbon reached out and covered his hand with her own. "Jane, I'm so sorry."

He flipped his hand over and started playing with her fingers. "Ten years later, and what do I have to show for it? I'm no closer to catching Red John than when I started out."

"That's not true," Lisbon protested. "We know more about him now than we did when we started."

"Yes. We know that he has more connections to powerful people than we would have imagined possible, but it hasn't gotten us a damn bit closer to actually finding him."

"We'll get him, Jane. We will." Lisbon put as much conviction into the words as she could muster, but after having been repeated so many times to no avail, she knew they lacked weight.

He rubbed his face with his free hand. "I'm so tired, Lisbon."

She squeezed his hand. "I know you are."

"It's not just the insomnia." He looked down. "I'm tired of the whole thing."

Lisbon's breath caught in her throat. "What are you saying?"

He smiled wryly. "Let's just say this hunt as taken more out of me than I expected."

Lisbon's heart beat faster. "You mean you're thinking about giving up on your quest for revenge?" She tried to keep her voice carefully neutral, but she couldn't help the note of hope that crept into it at the end.

"No," he said quickly. "I still want revenge. I just…" he sighed. "I don't know. I just want it to be over."

"And you're feeling guilty because feeling like that feels like a betrayal of Angela and Charlotte's memories," Lisbon realized.

"No," he said unconvincingly.

"It's not a betrayal, Jane. They'd understand." She hesitated. "In fact, I'm pretty sure they'd never have wanted you to have your life consumed by revenge. They'd probably be relieved if you gave it up."

"It's not about that. What do they care? They're dead."

She ignored him. "Wanting this to be over doesn't mean you love them any less," she said gently.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Jane said heavily.

"What do you mean?"

"Even if you could convince me to give up the revenge game, I couldn't just quit. Red John wouldn't let me."

Lisbon was silent. It was true. The man who'd killed Sam Bosco and his team just to get Jane back on the case would never let him just walk away. "Maybe you could take a vacation," she said finally.

He actually laughed at this. "A vacation from revenge?"

"A vacation from everything."

"And what would I do on this vacation? Go to Mexico? New York? Paris?" He watched her face. "Ah, that was an interesting flicker in your eye, Lisbon. I wouldn't have guessed you've always wanted to go to Paris. Now that I think about it, it makes sense. I've always known you were a romantic at heart. Still, it's nice to know you still have the ability to surprise me. You've never been?"

She shook her head. "You?"

"Yes, I went there several times when I was younger. Particularly if I was in the middle of what one might call a particularly long stretch of good fortune."

She smiled. "Or what one might call a particularly successful con."

"What do you say, Lisbon? Would you go to Paris with me, if I decided to take a vacation from my quest of revenge?"

She slid her hand away from his, discomfited by the uncharacteristically serious look in his eyes. She tried to laugh it off. "Who would stay here and keep all the bad guys off the streets, if we both ran off to Paris?"

He shrugged. "Cho. Rigsby. Van Pelt. Some of the many other fine law enforcement agents the state of California has to offer. The public would get along without us for a couple of weeks if we decided to go to Paris."

She reminded herself Jane hadn't slept in weeks and was well beyond the point of being capable of rational thought. He couldn't possibly be seriously considering the two of them running off to Paris together. Could he?

The whole idea was completely ludicrous. She tried to imagine going on vacation with Jane. Would the two of them even know what to do with themselves if they didn't have chasing murderers to occupy their time?

Unbidden, an image of the two of them sharing dessert at a sidewalk café flitted through her mind, her sneaking extra bites of the dessert while Jane shared some esoteric piece of trivia about French history that he'd have stored in some obscure room in his memory palace.

She fiddled with the edge of the bedclothes. "You're avoiding the question."

He raised his eyebrows. "Which question would that be?"

"Why did you come here?"

"I told you. I thought it would help me sleep."

"Yes, but *why*?"

"If you must know, it was because of the smell."

"The smell?" Lisbon said, taken aback. "What smell?"

"Your smell."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I smell?"

"Yes. You smell like cinnamon. As I said before, it's quite a pleasant scent."

She shook her head. "I would have bought you some cinnamon candles, you know, if you thought that would help."

"I'm afraid cinnamon candles wouldn't have done the trick, my dear."

She frowned. "But before, you said—"

"I wasn't planning on staying, you know," he cut her off.

"What?" Lisbon was having trouble keeping up.

"Staying here. I knew you'd be working late tonight. I was planning to break in and just sleep for a few hours and then leave before you got home."

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't understand."

"I figured your bed would smell like you. It does, of course, most pleasantly. But unfortunately, it hasn't helped me to sleep the way I thought it would."

Lisbon stared at him, wondering if he'd finally taken leave of his senses. "You thought smelling me was going to help you sleep?"

"Yes."

"Ok-aay," she said slowly. "Well, sorry it didn't work out, I guess." Nothing Jane was saying made the slightest bit of sense, and breaking and entering to sleep in your boss's bed as a cure for insomnia was just about the most bizarre idea she'd ever heard of. And that was saying something, given how much time she spent in the company of Patrick Jane. Given all of that, there was *absolutely no reason* that she should suddenly feel put out that sleeping in sheets that smelled like her *hadn't* helped him sleep.

"Yes, it's unfortunate, he agreed. "If it had worked out the way I planned it, I might have gotten through the evening without you pulling a gun on me."

"I didn't know it was you!" Lisbon protested.

He patted her arm. "I'm not criticizing. It was a perfectly natural reaction to finding a strange man in your bedroom. And I must say I have a new appreciation for your reflexes after that experience." He paused. "Not to mention some of your other assets."

She flushed. He was never going to let her live the striptease down. "So why did you stay, then?" she challenged him.

"Well, after a couple of hours, it became obvious that merely sleeping in your bed wasn't going to be adequate. So after awhile I decided to just give up and wait for you to get home." He looked at her reproachfully. "You really do keep the most abominable hours, you know."

"So says the man who spends the night at the office more often than not," she muttered. "I've never heard you complain about my hours when it means you have someone to keep you company for one of your late night cups of tea."

"Touche, my dear. Which, in fact, brings me to my point."

"What *is* your point?"

He sighed. "I don't sleep well alone."

"Oh," Lisbon said intelligently, not knowing quite how to respond to this.

"Do you know I still sleep on the right side of the bed, after all this time? I've told myself it's silly. I've tried sleeping in the middle, but even after so many years have passed, it still feels wrong not to be on my side of the bed."

Her heart went out to him. "It's not silly, Jane."

He looked at her. "I've tried everything, Lisbon. Normally I wouldn't presume—but I just was so desperate for some sleep. The reason I stayed was because I thought if I had someone to sleep beside me, I would finally be able to get some rest."

"You want to sleep with me?" Lisbon said, flabbergasted.

"You needn't sound so shocked, Lisbon. I'm sure plenty of men would do a great deal more than a little breaking and entering for the chance to share your bed—"

"Cut it out with the jokes, Jane," Lisbon interrupted him. "This is not the time."

"Oh, lighten up, Lisbon. I assure you, my intentions are honorable." He peered at her legs again. "Well, mostly, anyway."

She was quiet for a moment. "Why me?"

He gave her an odd smile. "Who else?"

"Somehow I doubt you'd find it difficult to find a little female companionship for an evening if you were looking for a warm body to spend the night with," she muttered.

"Ah, yes, but as I mentioned, I happen to be quite partial to the scent of cinnamon," he said softly.

She hesitated. He really did look awful. "You really think it would help you sleep?"

"I think at this point, anything's worth a shot."

She struggled internally for a moment before giving in. "All right," she said finally. "I guess you can stay."

His face broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Teresa." He settled happily back down under the blanket.

"No hogging the covers," Lisbon told him sternly.

"Scout's honor," he promised her.

"Gee, that's so reassuring, coming from you," she said sarcastically.

"Stop stalling." He patted the bed next to him. "Come on in. The water's fine."

She sighed. "Insanity must run in my family," she grumbled as she slid under the covers.

"Just think of it as your good deed for the day," he said consolingly as she turned out the light.

She snickered. "Sleep with your consultant, save a life."

"That's the spirit," he said cheerfully.

She found herself smiling into the darkness despite herself. "Good night, Jane."

"Good night, Lisbon. Sweet dreams."

"You, too."

xxx

Despite her own exhaustion, sleep eluded her. She lay in the dark, listening to Jane breathe, wondering how he'd managed to talk her into this, but finding the sound of his breathing beside her disturbingly comforting nonetheless.

A warm finger tapped her on the shoulder. "Lisbon," Jane whispered.

She jumped. "What?" she whispered back.

"I can't sleep."

"So much for your theory," she said wryly.

"It's not that. I'm certain my theory is sound."

She exhaled in frustration. It seemed he truly did never tire of his own arrogance. "What's the problem, then?"

"Now your inability to sleep is keeping me awake."

"So sorry to inconvenience you," she said sarcastically.

"I have an idea," he announced.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"I thought of something else that would help me sleep."

With some trepidation, she said, "Tell me."

"I think it would help if I held you," he told her.

She waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, she said, "*That's* your brilliant idea to help us sleep?"

"I said I think it will help *me* sleep." He peered at her in the darkness. "You, I'm not so sure about."

"Not happening, Jane."

"Oh, come on, where's the harm? It's not going to cause us to sleep any less than we already are," he pointed out.

Wanna bet? she thought silently. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"It will be good for both of us. It's been a ridiculously long time since either of us have had any significant physical contact with a member of the opposite sex. It's not healthy."

"It hasn't been that long," Lisbon said defensively. "How the hell would you know how long it's been, anyway?"

He merely raised his eyebrows in response.

She didn't even know why she bothered. "Never mind."

"So is that a yes?" Jane said hopefully.

"No."

"I'm not asking you to tell me the darkest secrets of your soul, I just want to hold you. Honestly, woman, does your fear of intimacy know no bounds?"

"Nice try, Jane. I'm not letting you manipulate me into agreeing just to prove to you that I don't have a fear of intimacy." Which of course she did.

He was silent for a moment, and she could tell he was formulating a strategy to get her to change her mind. "You're right," he said at last. "I should just try counting sheep, instead. Why mess with the classics? It's tried and true. I'm sure it will work just as well as having you in my arms."

"Good," she said, relieved, but not terribly reassured. "You do that."

"I'll count down from a thousand and one."

"Fine."

"One thousand and one sheep," he said aloud, not troubling to keep his voice down.

Seriously? "Can't you count *quietly*?" she hissed.

He ignored her. "One thousand sheep. Why do you think the plural of the word sheep is the same as the singular? It seems to lead to a dreadful lack of precision of language, in my opinion."

She sighed. "I don't know, Jane."

"Perhaps I should call the publisher of Webster's dictionary and point out this oversight."

"Jane. More counting, less chatting."

"Nine hundred and ninety nine sheep," he said obediently. "Hm. Good old number nine hundred and ninety nine has purple wool. Interesting. I don't believe that generally occurs in nature, do you, Lisbon?"

"No, Jane."

"Nine hundred and ninety eight. That one's wearing reading glasses and carrying a copy of Anna Karenina in his mouth. I hope he knows Russian literature always ends badly."

"Are you going to keep this up all night?" Lisbon said, exasperated.

"Nine hundred and ninety seven. Oh, look, that sheep is having a little trouble getting over the fence. No wonder, he's looking a little chubby. He should consider going on a sheep diet. Stop hitting the fields of barley so hard. Or perhaps engage in a more vigorous regime of fence jumping to lose those extra pounds."

"Oh, for God's sake," Lisbon exhaled in frustration. "Fine! You win. You can hold me, all right?"

"Why, Lisbon, I thought you'd never ask." He moved to her side with alacrity and wrapped himself snugly around her before she had a chance to have second thoughts, curling up against her back and wrapping his arm securely around her waist.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body, do you understand me?" she said threateningly.

He only snuggled up closer against her. "My lips are sealed," he said into her neck. She could feel his lips curve into a smile against the back of her neck.

Good Lord, this had been the worst idea ever.

She could feel his chest against her back. It was surprisingly strong and solid. He was wearing a t-shirt to sleep in and his bare forearm was snaked around her waist, his hand splayed against her belly holding her firmly to him.

She'd have been better off with the sheep.

He lifted his head from her neck. "Ah, Lisbon?"

"What?" she said tightly. It was possible she'd stopped breathing when he put his arm around her. Her heart, on the other hand, had started doing double time at first contact. Oh, yeah, she was totally going to be able to sleep now. No problem.

"You seem a little… tense," he said delicately.

"I'm not tense," she lied. She was, in fact, holding herself stiff as a board.

"Oh, please, this is like spooning a two by four."

"Well, shoot, looks like another one of your brilliant ideas didn't work out. Too bad. Guess you know what you can do if you don't like it," she ground out, furious with herself at being equal parts relieved and disappointed by the prospect of him letting her go.

He ignored her. "Seriously, woman, who taught you how to cuddle? You're appallingly bad at it."

Now she wanted to hit him. At last, a feeling she was comfortable having towards him. "Just let go, Jane. This isn't going to work."

He only held her tighter. "Not so fast, Lisbon. I'm not giving up that easily."

Of course he wasn't. "Look, what do you want from me? I've never been good at this sort of thing," she said, annoyed.

"I want you to relax," he said. His lips were moving against her neck again and she suppressed a shiver.

"Yeah, well, good luck with that," she managed. Relaxation was the last thing that was going to happen if he kept doing that.

"I know a trick."

"Great. Why don't you take your trick over to your side of the bed and *go to sleep*?"

"It only works with two people," he informed her, still talking into her neck.

Seriously, she could not be held responsible for her actions if he kept doing that. "Of course it does."

"Don't you want me to tell you about my trick?"

"I suppose there's no earthly way to prevent you, is there?"

"This one is going to work, Lisbon. I promise. It's foolproof."

"Why didn't you use it before, then?"

"I told you, it requires two people."

She sighed. "All right. I'll bite. What's the trick?"

"We're going to synchronize our breathing."

"That's it? We're going to breathe together? Really brilliant idea, Jane."

"Don't knock it til you've tried it."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"So I've often been told. Now, you start quite simply."

"I never agreed to—"

"Breathe in," he interrupted her, inhaling deeply as he spoke. He exhaled. "Breathe out."

Lisbon gave up. It was just breathing. What possible harm could it do to go along? Anything was better than staying awake with Jane's lips constantly moving against her neck as he chattered the night away.

"Breathe in."

She breathed in.

"Breathe out."

Exhale.

"Breathe in."

She could feel his chest expanding behind her as her own lungs filled with air, could feel his breath against her neck as they exhaled together. She could feel the tension draining out of her as they breathed together- in…out. In…out. Her heartbeat slowed and after a few more minutes she could feel his heart beating in time to her own.

"Breathe in… breathe out."

She yawned, languid and relaxed against him.

"Much better," he told her. "We'll make a cuddler of you yet." He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. "Mm. Cinnamon and spice and everything nice."

She chuckled despite herself. "Comparing me to a nursery rhyme, Jane? That is so hot."

"I'll show you hot, Lisbon," he muttered sleepily. "Just let me rest my eyes five minutes, and I'll show you…"

She smiled into the darkness. "Sleep, Jane."

He slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane slept for twelve hours.

Lisbon managed a very respectable eleven hours, herself.

They'd shifted in their sleep and Lisbon woke curled up against Jane's side, her hand on his chest and one leg thrown haphazardly over his. His arm was curved around her, his hand buried in her hair and cradling her head protectively against him. His other hand was over hers, trapping it against his chest, just over his heart. She could feel his heart beating under her fingertips and she had to admit to herself the sensation was not an unpleasant one.

Apparently, Lisbon was more of a cuddler than she'd thought.

Bright sunlight was streaming through her bedroom window and she could tell without even looking at the clock they'd slept away most of the morning.

With the sun glinting off his golden curls, and his long eyelashes resting against his lower lids, Jane looked more like some kind of fallen angel than an ordinary mortal man. Gone were the shadows under his eyes and the haggard set to his face. In fact, he looked like he normally did—damn near perfect.

God, he was annoying. Couldn't he have the decency to at least drool, or something?

As if on cue, he shifted slightly and started to snore.

Lisbon smiled in satisfaction. That was much better.

She moved to get up—she'd never spent eleven hours in bed in her life—but when she tried to move away, Jane made an unhappy noise of protest in the back of his throat and tightened his hold on her, though he didn't wake. She debated extricating herself from his grip, but she didn't want to wake him. She settled herself comfortably against him, rationalizing the decision by telling herself that Jane really needed the extra sleep, and who was she to deny him? It was for the good of the team, really.

When he woke, it was nearly noon.

Upon waking, he betrayed no surprise at finding himself in bed with his boss draped over him. "Morning, Lisbon."

"Morning," she said nervously, uncertain how he would react to their much closer than normal proximity in the cold light of day.

He stretched languorously and gave her a lazy smile. "This is nice."

Apparently, he was fine with it. "You slept well?"

"Better than I have in years."

She smiled. "Guess we should get up. We've slept half the day away."

"Mm." He closed his eyes and made no move to release her.

"Jane?" she prompted.

He didn't open his eyes. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"Not really. It is Saturday."

"Then… would you mind terribly if we stayed like this, just for a few more minutes?"

She hesitated. "All right."

His grip on her tightened. "Great."

They lay there in each other's arms for several minutes—all right, it was closer to a half an hour—and then Jane kissed Lisbon on the top of the head, said, "Thank you," and then got out of bed and announced he was making her pancakes for breakfast.

xxx

Lisbon was perfectly prepared for that to be the end of it, and was busy telling herself it would be better if they never spoke of it—even better if they could never think of it—again. She was failing at the latter miserably, but hey, Lisbons weren't quitters, so she'd keep trying until she succeeded or the effort killed her, whichever came first.

But two weeks later, Jane showed up at her front door at one in the morning with a pleading expression in his eyes.

At least he knocked this time.

She let him in without a word and led him upstairs to her bedroom. He shed his clothes without the slightest hint of embarrassment and crawled into bed beside her in his boxers and t-shirt. He curled himself around her and inhaled deeply. They breathed together, and slept.

xxx

Before long, this had become a habit. They never spoke of it, but without fail, Jane would show up at Lisbon's apartment several times a week and slide into bed beside her. It wasn't every night, and it never followed any regular pattern, but they'd both come to rely on those nights as the only times they could depend on having a truly good night's sleep.

Obviously, what they were doing was pretty fucked up. Lisbon accepted that from the beginning—it was a given. But hell, they were both single, and they each had their fair share of issues they didn't feel comfortable foisting off on other people in their lives, so she figured it made a warped kind of sense that they let their own individual fucked-up-edness… comingle. In fact, she realized, that was pretty much what they'd always done. This was just taking their already somewhat twisted codependency to a new level.

One morning after their newfound sleeping arrangements had been in effect about two months, she had a moment of deeply unwelcome clarity.

She woke in the early light of dawn. She woke much as she had that first morning, her head on Jane's chest and his arms around her.

She was pretty much cuddling like a pro at this point.

By all rights, she should have gotten up and started to get ready for work. Taken a shower, gotten dressed, made coffee, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed to the office.

Only the thing was, she didn't want to get up.

She raised her head to look at him. There was a faint trace of stubble along his perfect jawline, and his lips were softly parted. Lisbon smiled to herself and shifted slightly to get ready to get up.

She didn't, though. Instead, she lay there and watched Jane sleep.

He really was beautiful. Someone capable of causing so much trouble shouldn't have been allowed to come in such a beautiful package, she thought. Someone with so much darkness inside him shouldn't have been able to be so sweet, when he wanted to be. A feeling like she'd swallowed a bellyful of warm honey filled her, so full the feeling overflowed and filled up her heart, as well. He was simply impossible, she thought affectionately.

Then she stopped. Was she actually experiencing feelings of tenderness towards *Jane,* of all people? She assessed herself. Oh, God, she *was.* She was gazing at him downright *longingly.* Like some kind of pathetic, lovesick—

Hang on. Lovesick? No. Absolutely not. There was no way she felt like… that. About anyone, and least of all Patrick Jane. She was Teresa Lisbon, dammit. She was a good shot, led her team coolly and efficiently, and regularly kicked the asses of criminals twice her size. She didn't have warm, gooey feelings. Ever. It wasn't her style.

Only that honey feeling in her heart and belly could hardly be described as anything *but* warm and gooey. She looked at Jane in horror. She could not possibly have been so colossally stupid as to fall in love with Patrick Jane. She simply couldn't be foolish enough to entertain those types of feelings for a lying, manipulative, emotionally unavailable former con man.

Only, given the soft way she was staring at him while he slept, it appeared she could be exactly that stupid.

This was a disaster.

So she did what any rational human being with a healthy sense of self-preservation would do.

She ran as fast and far away as she could.

In her case, this was eight miles in sixty-four minutes. She dressed and was out the door like a shot, hitting the pavement not five minutes after her little revelation, leaving Jane alone among the rumpled bed sheets. She ran along the river as though hell hounds were after her, her mind racing faster than her legs could carry her as it tried to think of a way for what she'd realized to not be true.

When she let herself back into her apartment, she was grateful for the fact that the exercise had left her face flushed, because she was sure she would have turned beet red the minute she set eyes on Jane again.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen, drinking tea that had mysteriously found its way onto her shelves and reading her newspaper. "Morning, Lisbon."

She kept her response neutral. "Morning."

He looked up at something in her voice and studied her face in that way that meant that he was seeing far more about her than she wanted him to. Mercifully, though, for once he didn't push. "Good run?" he said neutrally.

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Yeah. I was out a little longer than I planned, though. I'm going to have to hurry up and hop in the shower if I'm going to make it to work on time. Meet you at the office," she tossed over her shoulder, beating a hasty retreat towards the stairs, hoping to minimize his opportunity to observe her thoughts in her face before she had a chance to pull herself together.

She felt marginally better once she was back in the office, clad in more than running shorts and a tank top. Maybe it didn't say the best thing about her character, but she just felt better with her trademark blazer as armor and her gun comfortably at her hip to reassure her. Not that she was planning to shoot Jane, of course. Or that a gun would be much use in defending her against the ramifications of her discovery. Still, it was nice to know she had the option.

Unfortunately, when she entered her office, there was a steaming hot cup of coffee and a bakery bag from Marie's waiting for her on her desk. She approached the bag and opened it as gingerly as though it were full of live snakes. The reality, however, was far worse.

It was a bear claw. Her favorite.

This was terrible. That warm gooey feeling was threatening to steal over her again. Damn Jane for being sweet and thoughtful exactly when she least wanted him to.

Maybe he'd piss off someone important later in the day, she thought hopefully. Surely that would drive away the gooeyness.

"Hey, Lisbon."

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jane's voice, but she managed to conceal her flinch by turning to face him. She gave him a smile and hoped he didn't notice the strain in it. "Hey, Jane. Thanks for the coffee. And the bear claw."

"You're welcome. I figured you'd be hungry after going on such a long run so early in the morning."

"Right," Lisbon said, uncomfortably aware that the only reason Jane even knew she'd been on a run this morning was because he'd spent the night in her bed.

Jane frowned and stepped towards her. "Is everything all right?"

Lisbon looked up in alarm and had to force herself not to take a step back. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

His frown deepened. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by mentioning—" He broke off and an expression crossed his features that Lisbon had never seen before. It was so utterly foreign that it took her a moment to identify it for what it was: Patrick Jane looked awkward.

"That is—I know you don't like to mix your personal and professional lives. I didn't mean to embarrass you by referencing something from our personal relationship at the office," he said.

Their personal relationship? Lisbon wondered. She didn't know Jane thought they had a personal relationship.

Well, she reflected, she supposed it didn't get a lot more personal than waking up in each other's arms several mornings a week. Still, it was interesting that Jane considered there to be a clear distinction between the personal and professional in their case. Lisbon herself privately thought the two facets of their relationship had always been hopelessly intertwined, however much she'd tried to do just as Jane said and keep her personal and professional lives separate from one another. But besides the first few months she'd known him—when her feelings towards him had centered solely on the constant and comfortingly unambiguous desire to strangle him—exasperation at his antics, admiration at the effectiveness of his unique skills, and worry for his well being had always claimed her in equal measures.

Of course, she said none of this. "Don't worry about it," she said, trying to sound reassuring. This whole situation was going to be unbearable if they *both* started acting awkward around each other. "It's not a big deal. I just meant—thank you. That's all. It was sweet of you to think of me."

For once in his life, Jane must have decided discretion was the better part of valor, because he dropped the subject. "Very well. Would you like me to tell you my latest theory about our current case?"

At last, familiar ground. She smiled at him. "That'd be nice."

"Obviously, the nanny did it."

She smirked. "Obviously."

"Yes."

"I'm sure he must have left loads of evidence behind, then. So much that the uniforms canvassing the area where the victim was found are probably having a hard time walking around the crime scene without literally tripping over those mounds of evidence that will give us an airtight case, right?"

He pointed a finger at her and shook his head with a definite twinkle in his eye. "You mock, but you'll see that I'm right."

"Naturally," Lisbon said in her most mocking tone. "How could I fail to do otherwise, what with those piles of evidence lying around, getting in everyone's way?"

"You don't need piles of evidence. I can tell you everything you need to know to solve the case in one word."

"Oh, really?"

"One word, Lisbon: 'manny.' A man overhears someone call him that, clearly, he's going to snap. The fact that it was his employer's best friend wouldn't matter to him. It's a primal male instinct- like lions. He couldn't let the other lions see him as weak, or he'd be dead meat- never able to get a mate or a pride of his own."

Sometimes Lisbon wondered if Jane even listened to himself. Did he have any idea how ridiculous he sounded, talking about 'mannies' and lions? Still, he was probably right about the nanny. She'd had her suspicions about him, herself. "All right, you operate under the lion theory, I'll look into seeing what we can come up with in terms of actual evidence, shall I?"

Van Pelt entered then. "You guys talking about the nanny? I think I found something in his financials that might be useful," she said, handing Lisbon a sheet of paper with a list of financial transactions printed on it.

Jane moved to stand next to Lisbon so he could read over her shoulder as she scanned the papers Van Pelt had given her.

The nanny had deposited sizable checks from several people in the neighborhood over the course of the last several months. The most recent was from the victim's wife. Interesting. Blackmail, maybe? That seemed the most logical reason for the sudden generosity of the victim's wife and their neighbors. Maybe he'd taken to sleeping with his employer's neighbors and then threatened to tell their husbands unless they provided a little kickback in exchange for his silence.

They finished reading at about the same time and looked up to find Van Pelt staring at them with an odd expression on her face.

"What?" Lisbon asked, taken aback by the expression on the younger agent's face.

"I just noticed something. Did you guys know you're breathing in unison?"

"What?" Lisbon said, appalled. "No, we're not."

"No, you were," Van Pelt insisted. "I was watching you while you read the financial report. You were both breathing in and out at the exact same time." She shook her head. "It was weird."

"I'm sure you're mistaken," Lisbon said stiffly, trying to control her panic. Okay, so it was unlikely that Van Pelt would be able to guess she and Jane were sleeping together based on one observation about their breathing habits, but surely it did not bode well for her desire not to acknowledge the existence of anything unusual between her and Jane if other people were noticing anything out of the ordinary between them.

"No, Lisbon, Van Pelt's right," Jane said, traitorous bastard that he was. He put his arm around Lisbon and squeezed her shoulder while addressing Van Pelt. "Lisbon and I are so in tune with each other, Grace, that we have unconsciously synchronized our breathing."

Lisbon shot him a murderous glare, but miraculously, this turned out to be exactly the right thing to say.

"Yeah, right," Van Pelt snorted in disbelief. Clearly, the thought of Lisbon and Jane being in tune with each other seemed completely ludicrous to her. Thank God.

Jane shrugged, unaffected, and let his arm fall from Lisbon's shoulder, to her great relief.

Lisbon tried to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Good work on the financials, Van Pelt. That was a good catch."

Van Pelt's face lit up. "Thanks, boss."

Lisbon returned her attention to financial records. She was convinced after her quick review of them that blackmail was a big piece of this whole mess.

She looked up at Jane, a question in her eyes.

"Yes," he confirmed. "You're right. Definitely blackmail." His eyes lit up. "Hey, do you think—"

"No," she said quickly. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on, Lisbon. It'll be fun."

She shook her head. "No way."

"Why not? You know it will work."

"There's no point. There's no need for us to create a scene in front of the whole neighborhood. The financial records are enough to bring him in for questioning, and he doesn't seem like the type to be able to hold up long under interrogation. He'll probably crack after five minutes with Cho."

"But—"

"No, Jane. Bringing him in for questioning will be quicker and easier." Off his disappointed look, she patted him on the arm. "You can sit in on the interrogation and make him feel uncomfortable by feeling his pulse, if you want," she offered by way of consolation.

"Very well," he huffed, and left the room, presumably to look for someone more willing to go along with his schemes.

Lisbon looked back to Van Pelt, who was staring at her again with that same odd expression.

"What?" she said self-consciously.

"What do you mean, 'what?' What was that?!"

Lisbon had no idea what she was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"Honestly, we're used to that kind of thing from Jane, but now you're doing it, too."

"Doing what?" Lisbon said, lost.

Van Pelt shook her head. "Apparently Jane's not the only mind reader around here."

If Van Pelt was referring to Lisbon with that comment, she was sorely mistaken, because Lisbon had no clue what she was driving at. "What are you talking about?"

"You knew what he was going to suggest to catch the nanny."

Lisbon nodded, still bewildered by Van Pelt's reaction. "Right. He was going to suggest a crazy scheme to trick the suspect into confessing."

"Exactly. And you knew it without him ever saying it!"

"It's Jane. He always wants to do something crazy to trick the suspect into confessing," Lisbon pointed out.

"Yes, but it was like you knew *which* crazy scheme he was going to try to put into motion."

"He wanted to start a fight between the victim's wife and the suspect's employer at a neighborhood block party," Lisbon said.

"Okay, but how did you know that?" Van Pelt asked, fascinated.

Lisbon wondered if perhaps Van Pelt had fallen on her head during yoga that morning. "Jane told me."

Van Pelt shook her head. "No, he didn't. I was standing right here. Neither of you mentioned a block party."

"But—" Lisbon stopped. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the block party coming up in conversation that morning. But she'd seen Jane reading a flier for the block party the day before and she knew Jane. He'd want to expose the culprit in as publicly humiliating a way possible, and if he could expose the secrets of as many of the other players in the story as possible along the way, so much the better. Such a spectacle would appeal to both his love of showmanship and his sense of poetic justice. A win-win, as far as he was concerned. Obviously he was going to try to persuade her to drive two hours south to bring even more chaos to an already distraught community. "I don't know," she said helplessly. "It just seemed clear what he was going to want to do."

Van Pelt shook her head. "Wow. Maybe you guys are more in tune than you thought."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is it, last chapter. Thank you so so much to everyone who favorited/ followed/ reviewed. This community is so *nice.* Truly, the support is so encouraging.

xxx

Lisbon tossed and turned. She couldn't sleep. Hadn't slept, really, for the past three days.

There was no reason for it. They'd closed the case. Cho had secured a confession from the nanny in under twenty minutes, with Jane's help. Justice had been served, and all was right with the world. Temporarily, at least. There was nothing for her to be losing sleep over.

The thing was, she'd gotten used to having Jane's quiet breathing beside her as she slept, and now she was having trouble sleeping without it.

Damn him. This was all his fault. She'd slept fine before he'd come along with his mutterings about cinnamon sheets and insistence on cuddling. And now she missed his possessive way of wrapping his arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair as they fell asleep together.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew what this meant. It meant that warm belly full of honey feeling wasn't, as she'd hoped, a one off. This, in turn, meant she *was* an idiot, because she'd been stupid enough to fall for Patrick Jane. She was in love with the charlatan.

Okay, acceptance was the first step to recovery. She could beat this thing. She could. She may have been dumb enough to fall in love with him, but it wasn't like she wanted a relationship with the jackass. She wasn't actually insane.

She tried to imagine what it would even mean to be in a relationship with Jane. It would mean never again having a peaceful moment to herself, completely free of tricks and schemes. He'd invade even more of her life than he already had. She'd have to deal with office gossip, CBI regulations, deeply uncomfortable conversations with her boss, and the challenge of maintaining her authority over her team with them constantly wondering if her judgment had been compromised by her relationship with Jane. Hell, she'd have to deal with *her* constantly wondering if her judgment had been compromised by her relationship with Jane. He'd quite simply drive her crazy before one week was out.

She ruthlessly shoved thoughts of bear claws and the feeling of him nuzzling into her neck out of her mind and focused on the fact that he had a monomaniacal obsession with a deranged killer that consumed all his time and energy. Not much room for a relationship when you were on a singleminded mission for revenge. 'What's that, honey? You want me to go to your brother's wedding with you? Sorry, no can do. I have to spend the weekend holed up in an attic desperately trying to exact vengeance for the murders of my wife and child.'

Right, she'd almost forgotten the fact that he was still in love with his wife. The devil was in the details, as Jane liked to say.

As she saw it, she had two options. One, she could tell Jane how she felt and wait for him to panic and run for the hills. Of course, that would mean she wouldn't have him breaking into her apartment all hours of the night to crawl into bed with her. But that was fine. She was sure she'd get used to sleeping alone again. Or not.

Sleep was for the weak, anyway.

Her second option was to ignore the existence of any non-platonic feelings she may have developed for her consultant and continue to get at least a few nights a week of blessedly uninterrupted sleep for as long as he decided to continue inviting himself into her bed.

Personally, she was leaning towards option two.

She sighed. This mental debate was all well and good, but it wasn't doing a damn thing to help her go to sleep. Resigned, she dragged herself out of bed and headed downstairs to see if Jane had left any of that herbal tea he insisted was supposed to relax the mind and body.

She turned on the living room light when she reached the foot of the stairs and nearly screeched in shock when she saw Jane sitting on her couch, looking exhausted. He looked up when he saw her. "Hey, Lisbon."

"Jesus, Jane," she said, her hand over her heart. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry." He took in the sight of her in her favorite jersey. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head. "No. You?"

He gestured. "As you see."

She hesitated. Hadn't they worked out a system that could resolve this problem for both of them in circumstances such as these? "What are you doing down here? Why didn't you just come upstairs?"

"The thing is," he said slowly. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

Lisbon felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It looked like she was going to be stuck with option number one, after all. "Okay." But then—"I don't understand. Why did you come over, if you don't want to come upstairs?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to come upstairs. Just that I didn't think it was a good idea."

Lisbon was starting to feel annoyed. "How long have you been down here, anyway? Were you just going to lurk down here in the dark all night? Because that's just—" She didn't know what it was, though, except completely aggravating, bordering on infuriating. She'd been lying upstairs for hours trying to sleep, and now it looked like he'd been brooding on her couch the whole time. He could brood from her bed just as easily as he could from her couch, couldn't he? It was like he had the solution to her problem– himself, in her bed—and he was deliberately keeping it from her. "What is the problem, Jane? I thought we had…an arrangement."

He looked down. "Yeah. The thing is, I'm not so sure that arrangement is working out so great for me."

"Fine," Lisbon snapped, ignoring the part of her that felt his words like a crushing blow and focusing on the anger instead. "Nobody is holding a gun to your head. If you want to leave, leave. But you can't have it both ways. You can either stick to the arrangement, or you can get the hell out. None of this creeping around my apartment in the dark like a damn psychopath. That's just… too much to ask, Jane."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to creep. Honestly, I have only been here a few minutes. I was going to come upstairs in a moment. I was just trying to collect my thoughts before disturbing you."

"That's never stopped you before," she pointed out.

He smiled wryly. "Too true. Which, in a way, is what I want to talk to you about."

"Talk to me about what?"

He stood up and stepped closer to her. "There's something you should know about me," he said gravely. Lisbon's heart stopped. Oh, God, what could he possibly confess to her that could be worse than what she already knew about him?

He paused. "I'm a very selfish person," he said seriously.

Lisbon nearly collapsed with relief. "That's it?" she said, laughing out loud despite her frustration. "Is that supposed to be news to me?"

He glared at her. "I'm trying to tell you something here, Lisbon."

"Sorry." She schooled her features into a concerned frown. "Go on."

"I didn't plan to come here tonight. Even after I got here, I had second thoughts. I told myself I should leave. But I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"What are you saying?"

"By all accounts, you'd be better off without me. If I were remotely capable of acting in anything other than my own self interest, I'd stay as far away from you as possible. But obviously I'm not, or I wouldn't be here. You see, I have a problem."

Was he going to talk in circles all night? "Can you be a little more specific?"

He looked at her. "Anyway, the problem is… well, it's like cinnamon candles."

Lisbon gestured impatiently. "What about them?"

"I thought—I've been coming over here way too much. For my own purposes, without any regard for what's best for you. It's not fair to you. So I went to the store after we closed the case. I bought two dozen cinnamon candles, Lisbon. Two dozen. But it wasn't enough. I still couldn't sleep."

Lisbon shook her head. "I thought you said before—the first time…I thought you already knew candles wouldn't help you sleep."

He sighed, as though she were being deliberately obtuse. "That's not the point."

"What *is* the point, Jane? Cause you're not making a whole lot of sense, here."

"The point is, cinnamon candles are a poor imitation of the real thing, Lisbon."

"Jane, I will let you sleep with a bottle of my shampoo, if you think it will help, but I still don't see—"

"What we're doing," he interrupted her. "You letting me break in from time to time to sleep beside you. Our arrangement, as you put it. It's like the cinnamon candles. It's tempting to think it's a reasonable substitute for the real thing, but it's not enough."

God, Lisbon was so tired. Why couldn't he just make sense? Or at the very least, stop talking about candles and come upstairs so she could finally get some sleep? "I don't have any candles upstairs, Jane."

"I don't want candles, Lisbon."

Belatedly, some of what he was saying finally started to sink in. "And you don't want the arrangement, either," she realized, feeling like a prize idiot.

"I just don't think it's very healthy. For either of us."

"Oh, suddenly you're the poster boy for healthy behavior?" Lisbon said sarcastically. It was a mean thing to say, but if Jane left, she was facing the prospect of never sleeping again. Forgive her for being a little testy.

He smiled wryly. "I think it's clear that I'm not. But for the first time in a very long time, I'm feeling motivated to try. In this one area of my life."

Lisbon was sick of this conversation. "Fine. Whatever. I get it. Arrangement's over. You can let yourself out. I'm going back to bed."

He caught her hand as she turned away. "Lisbon, wait. We need to talk about this."

"It's three o clock in the morning. Can't we do this some other time?" Like when she wasn't so exhausted she couldn't even try to hide from the boy wonder how crushed she was?

"I think it would be better if we did it now."

Lisbon was convinced that if she killed him right now, any jury in the world would rule it a justifiable homicide. Only Patrick Jane would insist on having a Dear John conversation at three in the morning after breaking into a woman's apartment. She really was bad at relationships. They weren't even together and she was being subjected to a breakup talk. She sighed. "Have it your way, Jane. You always seem to, in any case," she muttered.

Jane looked at her. "You're upset."

"Oh, very astute, Jane," she said snidely. "You should take that show on the road."

He watched her face. "You're not just cranky from lack of sleep. You're upset with me."

"Don't do that," Lisbon said sharply. "You can analyze my facial expressions or you can have your precious 3am chat, but you can't have both. Pick one."

He hesitated. "Very well. I pick the 3am chat."

Of course he did. Bastard probably figured he could keep analyzing her and just not provide his usual running commentary. Lisbon gestured at him to get on with it. "Chat away."

"Right. Where was I?"

"Cinnamon candles," Lisbon spat out.

He nodded. "Yes. As I was saying, cinnamon candles are no longer adequate to my needs. I want more."

"Fine. Nobody's stopping you," Lisbon snarled.

He looked at her curiously. "Really?"

"Yes. You want more. Well—go for it."

He regarded her with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. "You sure about that?"

"Yes!" Lisbon said, goaded beyond endurance.

Jane shrugged. "All right."

And then he stepped forward and kissed her.

Warm honey. He tasted like warm honey. And tea. Earl Grey and warm honey. It was a surprisingly light, sweet taste. Rich, though. The honey feeling, too, was welling up and threatening to spill out of her, so she did the only reasonable thing she could think of and kissed him back, to give Jane some of that feeling back.

Then he let her go.

Lisbon stood there, dazed, and then opened her eyes slowly, trying to figure out what had just happened. He was standing close to her and smiling down at her. She blinked up at him.

"I'm confused," she confessed, once she was capable of speech again.

Jane stroked her hair. "What are you confused about? I told you I want more."

"Maybe I should have asked this before, but… what do you mean, you want more?"

"Paris," he said. "I want Paris."

Lisbon stared at him. Had she died and gone to crazyville? Or was Jane seriously talking about actually taking a vacation? Like a normal person? "You're really going to Paris?" she said in disbelief. What the hell did that have to do with cinnamon candles?

He patted his breast pocket. "I've got the tickets right here."

"Oh," she said, too stunned to develop a coherent response. "Well, good for you. The time off will do you good." He was going to Paris. Then what was that, a good-bye kiss?

He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Take a look."

Lisbon turned the envelope over in her hands, not wanting to open it and be faced with the reality that Jane was actually leaving. She felt sick at the thought. What if it was one way?

That would be a good thing, she told herself sternly. It would mean Jane was actually taking her advice and getting a life. She tried to ignore the feeling that her heart had suddenly gone hollow. He'd kissed her good-bye, and now he was leaving the cinnamon candles behind. He was going to look for something better. But that was fine. He could go find someone who smelled like peaches and cream to share insomniac tendencies with. She'd manage without him.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "Open it."

Reluctantly, she opened the envelope. She glanced at its contents and then looked up sharply. "There are two tickets here."

"Yes," Jane confirmed.

"One of them has my name on it."

"True."

"You bought me a ticket to Paris?" she said in disbelief.

"I did indeed."

"Jane, these are for one week from now!"

"There's no time like the present, Lisbon. Paris is lovely this time of year."

"I don't speak French."

"You don't need to speak French to look at the Eiffel Tower and walk down the Champs Elysees."

"I can't go to Paris with you! We have to work."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Wainwright will let you take some time off. Do know how much vacation time you have saved up?"

Lisbon had no idea. Jane must have read this on her face, because he didn't wait for her to respond before answering his own question. "You haven't taken a day off in three years, Lisbon. You have forty-three days of vacation accrued. I think you can spare a few of them to go to Paris with me."

"How do you know how much vacation I have?" Lisbon demanded.

He shrugged. "I went down to the human resources department and asked them."

"And they told you, just like that?"

"Matilda was very accommodating once I told her I wanted to surprise you with a romantic trip to Paris."

A romantic trip? "But—" Lisbon spluttered. "What about the candles?"

"I'm sure they have candles in France, if you want them, Lisbon."

She shook her head. "No. I mean—the cinnamon candles. You said you didn't want them."

"That's right. Why would I want the cheap imitation if I have a chance at the real thing?"

She bristled. "Now I'm a cheap imitation?"

"Of course not. Why would you even ask that?"

"You said being with me was like cinnamon candles."

He blinked. "No, I didn't. I said *not* being with you was like cinnamon candles. Or rather, that being only half with you was like cinnamon candles."

"You kept yammering on about how sleeping with me was like cinnamon candles and that you didn't want candles in your life anymore. What was I supposed to think?"

He considered this. "So you're saying the reference to the cinnamon candles was a poorly constructed metaphor?"

"It wasn't the best."

"You aren't like cinnamon candles, Lisbon. There is nothing about you that is a pale imitation of anything. You are the real thing. The purest, high quality cinnamon. Being with you is like… hot apple cider on a cold winter day."

"Apple cider?"

"Gingerbread at Christmas time. Snickerdoodles fresh out of the oven. A cinnamon latte on a brisk fall day."

"Okay, if you think you're going to call me 'snickerdoodle' as some kind of nickname, so help me—"

"Lisbon," he interrupted her. "Will you go to Paris with me?"

"I…" Lisbon stared at him, at a loss. Was he really serious about this? The plane ticket in her hand gave some weight to the question, but she'd witnessed far more complicated tricks from Jane after she'd known him a week.

He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his. "Please?"

Her eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The last time I was here with you."

"That was three days ago."

"What about it?"

"I don't think you're thinking very clearly."

"What makes you say that?"

"You said you meant to stay away from me, yet you break in here in the dead of night with tickets to Paris in your pocket. And you kissed me." She shook her head.

"That seems clear to me. I tried to stay away from you for fear of putting you in danger, but I grew selfishly attached to the idea of wanting to sleep with you by my side. Sleeping with you in my arms made me realize I want to be closer to you. I resisted the urge at first because I feared if Red John found out you were close to me, he would come after you. Then I realized unless I was willing to remove myself from your presence entirely, there was nothing I could do about that." He exhaled. "I wasn't willing to do that, so I might as well do the best I can to protect you by sticking to you like glue. So I decided to buy you a ticket to Paris as the first step in my plan to convince you to sleep beside me every night, instead of only a few nights a week."

"So you lurking down here in the dark was you having a last minute panic attack about Red John coming after me if you tried to get closer to me?"

"I suppose one could put it that way, yes."

She paused. "You really want to sleep next to me every night?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank God." And she launched herself at him, kissing him for all she was worth.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting on Jane's lap on the couch, the two of them making out with the enthusiasm of sixteen year olds.

His hands had snaked under her jersey and were resting on her hips as their tongues dueled. His vest was unbuttoned, though she hadn't made much progress on his shirt. Apparently Jane was high maintenance even when it came to getting him undressed.

When they came up for air, Lisbon was pleased to note that the master of biorhythms was breathing rather heavily. "So is that a yes?" Jane said, panting slightly.

"To what? Paris, or the sleeping with you every night thing?"

"All of the above."

"Hm."

Sensing her hesitation, he tightened his grip on her hips. "I'll stop kissing you if you don't say yes," he threatened. Obviously he'd noticed she was a fan of the kissing and wasn't going to want to give it up.

She looked into his eyes and grinned. "Liar." It was obvious to her he wasn't going to want to give it up, either.

He scowled, looking for all the world like a petulant five year old. "Yes or no?"

She considered this. He was going to take over her life even more completely than he had already and make it infinitely more complicated.

On the other hand, she had always wanted to go to Paris. And while it was true Jane made her life more complicated, he also made it so much more *interesting.* Despite the headaches he caused her at work, he made going to work fun. Plus, she was in desperate need of sleep, and since she'd apparently become addicted to having Jane in her bed while she slept, she hardly had a choice, did she?

"Lisbon?" he prompted.

She smiled at him. "Yes."

"Really?" Jane said, sounding surprised.

"You didn't think I'd agree?" Lisbon said, laughing.

"No, I thought you'd agree. I just thought it would take a lot more arguing before I would be able to convince you."

"You thought I was going to turn down a free trip to Paris?"

"I had the perfect plan to trick you into getting on the plane," he confessed. He shook his head. "It's almost a shame to waste it."

"Mm-hm." Lisbon leaned in and kissed him again, not interested in Jane's schemes at the moment.

"It involved one of those airport kiosks, you know, the ones that sell neck pillows and the Rosetta Stone in thirty-five languages—mm, that feels nice—and one of those dogs that sniffs for drugs."

"Jane?"

"Hm?" he said, his mouth busy planning hot kisses against her neck.

"Stop talking," she ordered.

For once, he obeyed.

Some considerable time later, they went up the stairs, hand in hand, and slept.


End file.
